Day: February 26, 2023

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230226_I_WISH.mp3

Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles

I wish doctors could prescribe drugs over CB radio. I’ve had sleeping issues since my surgery, and I could use some Ambien or Fentanyl or a combo of ambien-fentanyl-adderal that the formulary dude can make just for me fucker … then I could sleep walk my way into fame and fortune, being chased by cops and those old fashioned hookers that hide guns in their underwear.

I wish I could find a passionate outlet for my weaving and baking and drinking. I would find some milk maiden, busty and luscious, selling her butter down by the abandoned theater …

They don’t show no movies no more, and everyone has claxes disease because the dogs keep dying.

I wish I hadn’t done that thing I did …

It was a hot summer and the jungle was drenched with scrib-mist and human-stryg gas. The natives were sharpening sticks and preparing to roast long pig – and it was me or that other guy …

And I didn’t want to end up as RED muck stool.

I wish I’d been a more gentle and sensitive lover. How often I’d touch her, coarsely, my hands covered in scars and dried scabs and pain. And she’d whimper under my gaze, as the meadow-leaches sucked away her stringus-juice, and she moaned for luxurious relief, but none is found.

I wish I could ride the wire pony, taking tree-baths with the 8 minstrels of C’lept, as we harkon back to strange weird times of heroin dreams and broken glass time shares. I could find my heart in the blasted furnace and seek grain offerings for Zed the Lemur King, all knowing.

I wish the world could be filled with love. All the birds could sing some common song of peace and connection and mindfulness bullshit …

I wish all the ZEN monks would load up into some fucking AN-2 COLT ARMADA … and we can just take pot shots at these fuckers with .50 cal.

I wish I could find all my lost children. I wish I could find those kids, I left behind, in all those places.

I was bad …

I’d do my business on that gas station toilet seat …

Knowing, fully, that some trans-curious female would sit down, in her tom-boy clothes, and get it.

I have my own hooker children, all around the globe. They are the result of my toilet seat surprise. These women got pregnant, some thought it was a miracle event – but alas, no. I was leaving something special on the unisex toilet seat, something greasy and alive with GOLD FIRE!

I wish I could have my lover, Brenda, back again. We used to hustle miracle whip shots from CARL at the shelter. We’d drink piss-nod juice and play “grab a wang” behind the Denny’s off of Blimpton St., not far from where those baptists were killed last year. This is my WILL!

I wish I could get back those years of shooting up heroin and KROKODIL and liquid meth. I would sit on that park bench, across from the community college, and just shove that poison into my broken soul. I’d drain wound into the gutter, and watch the songbirds fly way, to FRANCE.

I wish my old FORD pickup still ran. It just sits on blocks at my ex-girlfriend’s parent’s foster kid’s farm. They don’t care, they set fire to it and fire guns at it. But that pickup was my only connection to the past, and without it my heart breaks. Can you IMAGINE THAT? BRO?

This wishing game gets old …

Newer wishes piled on old ones, worthless and weightless regrets to unfold …

Our inner child setting fire to buildings …

Our mistress lays naked, waiting for our male power juice-pipe love making routine …

A dangerous flame called WISHING!

We were candle makers once …

And drovers …

We raised crops and ate the silent flesh of dark autumn. Our women wore torn dresses and our men strode shirtless, carrying bats and chain and white lightning rage.

Our game was ONLINE and we won those points …

And she was MINE.

No telling where we would end up after all this hopeful, wishful, striving. We would build pyramids in honor of STYGIAN RAIL MEN and the LADIES of SCOMPTON that feed on weed butter and careless dainties …

There would be a NEW FORM in this wishful crap.

We would dream ON!

I wish …

I wish and wonder and dream …

I conceive of a self that stands tall against crap monsters and globe trotting BLOB CREEPS.

I feed on your fearful wonder because you know your hooker wife is cheating on you with Joe, the money guy …

I wish you luck mother fucker.

I can bring you safely home, once the night turns black and the coyote sing. I can provide a cougar style cave life, with all the SEX OILS and tools of seduction.

I can build a world within a world for your desire fetish, and I can hunt the old otter flesh to keep you horny.